Soa's End Game
by PyroStriker
Summary: An assassin finds a mysterious gemstone in the middle of a hit, and stumbles on something best left buried beneath the seas of time.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Note: Yes, I know it's been a long time since I've updated Rebirth, and I know I said I was going to update Crimson Wings next, but I've had some serious problems with writer's block. I really haven't had many problems with writer's block before now, but this time it's serious. I cannot for the life of me think of what to write. The frustrating thing is, I only need Chapters 71 and 72, and then I can produce 73-77 about two days apart, because I know exactly what I want to happen in those. The trouble is getting there. Bleh.  
  
Anyway, I could have written up Chapter 2 of my Zeig fic, considering I know what's gonna happen there, but for some strange reason I decided not to. I decided instead to start a new fic, adding to my 13 other unfinished stories. Yes, my mind works in mysterious ways sometimes. *blink* On second thought, scratch the sometimes. But I thought this up in Math when I finished the incredibly easy test early and thought what the hell and decided to try it out. I figured there aren't many other futuristic fics to compare it to, so I can't be criticized that much. Enjoy.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
A shrill beep sounded in the interior cabin of the ship, and a powerful aroma wafted into the open air as the police sergeant withdrew a freshly roasted cup of coffee from the machine. He sighed and sat down heavily in his swiveling chair in the cockpit. "What's the report?"  
  
"Well, sir, the station sent out a distress call shortly before commencing a total lockdown. Then, of course, there was the explosion. Nothing seems to be malfunctioning, except for the slight detail that there's now a gaping hole that's slowly sucking out all the oxygen."  
  
The case was relatively simple, a rich family barricading themselves inside their space station when under attack from an outside attack and waiting for law enforcement to arrive. "Typical hit man work."  
  
"I agree, sir. A hired assassin is about the only plausible explanation I can think of."  
  
"Well, he'll have to come out sometime, or he'll run out of air. We just have to wait until he does."  
  
"That won't save the family, sir."  
  
The officer took another sip of the scalding rejuvenating liquid, and put his hand to his face. "I know, but sending troopers into a station losing air in the middle of a lockdown is never a good idea. There's nothing we can do for them. We can just prevent this guy from attacking anyone else, and there's something to be said for that."  
  
In the meantime, the assassin was walking down a corridor in the heart of the space station, his breath rattling eerily as the carbon dioxide was filtered out of the mask that supplied his oxygen from the tank on his back. The metal boots of his suit echoed hollowly against the steel floor of the hallway, while the glowing strobe lights on the ceiling cast patterns on his visor. He stopped at the computer console outside the center nexus. He had no doubt that the family would be in there. In these stations, the central area was often the only place in the entire home where you could initiate a lockdown. One would think that more resourceful people would increase their chances of self-preservation by hiding somewhere less obvious, for the center of the station was the first place assassins checked for their victims, but he had found from experience that these people rarely broke the mold.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as he accessed the computer and did away with the first level of encryption, he read the nexus for vital signs and detected four healthy human beings, with a fifth smaller reading that he suspected came from a pet. His fingers danced along the keys as he hacked through several more layers of security coding, and he eventually found what he was looking for. He calmly pressed the key that would cut off the air from the nexus, sealing the hapless inhabitants' doom. In a few moments they would asphyxiate. Suffocation was a nasty way to die, slow and painful, but it couldn't be helped. The blast doors were probably buried beneath several more levels of encryption, and the police were probably on their way, so he didn't feel like he had enough time to get into the chamber itself and give his targets a swift death.  
  
He didn't consider himself a criminal, even as he waited for the family inside the chamber to run out of air. Far from it, actually. The system nowadays was a web of corrupt political favoritism, and the police was only deployed when someone with high wealth or social status found themselves in a sort of difficulty. The povertized were spurned, while the middle class was left to fend for themselves, which they did, albeit with some grumbling. Those that were considered 'criminals' were actually two groups, actual villains and vigilante cops, crusaders of the downtrodden who took it upon themselves to protect the poor. He, of course, belonged to neither group, merely making his living by striking back against the pampered scum at the top of the economic ladder.  
  
He turned on the outboard cameras, getting a glimpse of the situation as it unfolded. Four police cruisers pulled up, but they stalled. He realized what they were doing with a shock. They were stalling, waiting for him to attempt to escape! Apparently, they thought the family was already dead, and they didn't want to risk any officers. Very well then, if they were giving him the time he needed, he would open the blast doors. Might as well make a clean job of it if given the chance.  
  
His fingers walked like spiders along the rows of keys, the gloves making sure that he would leave no evidence for the investigators to pick up on, at least none of the obvious things one would look for. After a few minutes the doors slid open, revealing the dead bodies inside. Among the four humans there lay a dog, the fifth vital sign he had found on the computer. He felt sorry for the animal. If they had left it to roam in the corridors, it would still be alive right now. The investigators would probably have found it before all of the oxygen drained out of the spacious station.  
  
He calmly pulled the wallet from the patriarch, flipping it open. Identification cards. Perfect, the card was the best evidence for him to prove he had done his job. The identification cards were the first thing taken by the killer; they were a way of proving they had gotten there first. Even if it were a murder by a common thief, they would have taken the wallet with them. This would be good enough for his employer. He trudged out of the room, not bothering to dispose of the bodies. He had left no evidence on them, but if he tampered with them he would leave clues behind. Better to leave them as is.  
  
But he stopped suddenly as he thought he saw something glinting among the dead. He turned around, his curiosity piqued, and bent over to examine it. It was a circular faceted gemstone, he assumed it was an amethyst from its rich violet color. It was probably worth a fortune. He might as well take it. If nothing else, it would get him a couple of extra bucks.  
  
The moment he touched it, it burst into radiant purple light. Lightning crackled around him, surging through the conductive walls. He dropped the stone in surprise, and the strange display dimmed. Damn! That gave away his position. Well, it didn't make much difference. He would have to leave eventually anyway. After a moment's hesitation, he picked up the gem again. This time, it only glimmered at his touch. He was grateful for that much.  
  
He returned to the console, calmly typing up a basic virus. He sent it to the police cruisers' onboard computers and headed for the docking bay. He would have to hurry, there wasn't much air left in his tank. He reached the launching pad, only to be met by another locked door. Not willing to expend the time to hack into the code system, he whipped out his blaster and fired a burst at the keypad. The door slid open, and he strode through it quickly. Never mind that the investigators would be able to figure out the kind of weapon he used. There were only several hundred thousand other people who owned the same kind of gun, they wouldn't be able to track him down with that evidence alone.  
  
The police did indeed get an eyeful of the impressive show of electricity. The sergeant gaped, jumping out of his chair to get a better glimpse. "In the name of the bleeding Divine Creator, what is that?"  
  
"Doesn't look like anything I've ever seen, sir."  
  
"Well, we now know the family's dead, and he's on his way out."  
  
That was when the virus hit. "Sergeant, we've lost all communication, and the generator's down."  
  
"Damn, the little bastard must have scrambled our computer!" This was not good. They would have to run their engines on the emergency combustible fuel, and they would only be able to use the weaponry that wasn't hooked up to the power system, which was in short their limited supply of impact missiles.  
  
But then he spotted something coming out of the launching bay. An escape pod? This meant there might be survivors! "All ships, rendezvous with the escape pod!"  
  
Too late, he saw the image shimmer and melt away. The assassin had used a simple hologram shield to project the image. There was no time to change course. In a split second, the enemy ship fired four short bursts, one at each cruiser. Expecting the ship to go up in flame, he was surprised when nothing happened. As he opened his eyes, he saw a blue crystal forming outside the ship. Stasis field beams. They would be immobilized for several hours.  
  
Even as the killer's ship turned and sped off full throttle, and as he slammed his hand against the ship's control panel in frustration, the sergeant could not help but be amazed by his opponent's simple yet brilliant tactics. The hit man had supplied a simple illusion, but he had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Although he felt the usual frustration of failure, he wept no tears for the dead. He was paid well for his job, but that didn't mean he liked it. He was well aware of the injustices that the political system forced on the unfortunate, but he did not think there was anything he could do, at least right now. However, he had considered the idea of quitting the police department and joining a vigilante band more than once. Regardless, the man had gotten away, and would soon be cutting another rich man's throat.  
  
And though he would never admit it, the sergeant hoped someone else was on duty then, so that he could cheer him on.  
  
The assassin slumped in his seat as he put the ship on automatic pilot. He felt the usual half elation, half exhaustion that came at the end of a successful hit. However, this one was different. The strange purple gem sat beside him, dull now. He would have to figure out what that was, and what made it light up like that. But first he would get the latter half of his payment, and his new assignment. All in all, just another day on the job.  
  
Author's Note: Well, that's done with. I kind of like it. It's special. Even though the whole hit man thing has been done to death. -_- Ah well, I needed an interesting origin, so I just picked that. How unoriginal of me. Anyway, I avoided using names on purpose. I don't know why, I just did. I had trouble deciding whether to make the main character (yes, he is the main character) Violet or Dark, but I decided with Violet. Just because. Anyway, I hope you people liked that. Otherwise, you're stuck with it. Well, actually you aren't, because nobody's forcing you to read it. Unless there's some very weird blackmail going on... *smacks self* Shut up! 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I am currently stuck on Rebirth and incredibly lazy, which is why this took so long. Therefore, I decided to update this. Just because. Don't be mean, Fifi, the assassin (whose name WILL be revealed in this chapter) is the good guy. The system is corrupt, remember? He just takes the law into his own hands, sort of.  
  
Anyway, this is not AU, it just takes place really, really far in the future, and since space travel has been developed, Endiness isn't the only planet involved anymore. Exactly how far in the future it is... well, you'll just have to wait and see. Yes, DDX, I realize that most people don't think the whole futuristic Dragoon thing doesn't work too well, which is one of the reasons I went through with this fic. I usually like to take up ideas that aren't used a lot, like the story from Zeig's and Dart's POVs. As far as I know, the only sci-fi story in the category besides this one is shike's, that needs to be updated more often, hint hint.  
  
Protoss rule! They're wrinkly psychic ninja cricket people, who doesn't love them?  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The following day, Zedin strode into the office of his employer, the identification cards of his late prey clutched in his fingers. He was still wearing his combat suit, which he rarely saw fit to take off and his heavy metal boots echoed off the floor. He tossed the cards onto the desk and waited. The man behind the desk, an odious, sniveling fellow whose company Zedin did not enjoy in the slightest examined the cards then glanced back up at the young man, an oily smile creasing his face. Zedin felt nauseous just looking at that disgusting grin. "Well, that was certainly quick, even for a hunter of your high reputation."  
  
He seemed about to say more, but Zedin interrupted him. "Cut the crap and give me the other half of my money."  
  
An eyebrow shot up at that. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"  
  
"What my mother did or didn't teach me is no concern of yours." Zedin emphasized his growing impatience by blasting a hole in the wall no more than an inch above the man's bald head.  
  
The rest of the necessary business moved rather swiftly.  
  
The complex machinery of the suit Zedin wore required no more than his thoughts to command it, and at his whim a screen and a small panel with a tiny slit popped up from the metal shell that surrounded his left arm. Zedin gently slid the credit disk into the panel, and the screen flashed green. Good, then the money was legitimate. Zedin certainly wouldn't put it past that slimeball to try and slip him a counterfeit disk and hope he didn't notice. With his errand finished, Zedin strode out of the room, leaving his former boss muttering about the cost of repairing his wall.  
  
No more than an hour later, Zedin returned to his satellite, one of a modest size, but it served the bounty hunter's needs. After docking his ship, he strode impatiently into the station itself. Booting up his computer, he briskly sifted through all of the new proposals that had been offered to him while he had been gone. He immediately deleted several, for he was very particular about the sort of jobs he took. He was not a depraved greed-possessed animal who would sell his soul to anyone who would give him a decent price for it. Zedin had more dignity than that.  
  
Finally Zedin found an offer that held his interest. He was being asked to go after Alec Theros. The price was higher than he had ever received on one job before, but that was to be expected, for people had been after this man's head for as long as Zedin could remember. He was supposedly a genius, and fantastically wealthy, but nobody knew exactly what he did, or at least the ones who did either didn't want to tell or were afraid to. His station was not only enormous, but insanely complex, a labyrinth of twisting steel passages, with complicated puzzles required to continue into the heart of the satellite, as if the target was flaunting his guile and intelligence to fluster and mock his supposed predators. Whatever his work was, it never required him to leave his home, and all of the necessary household duties were undertaken by a staff of butlers and maids. Hunters had attempted catching these people before to discover the route to the nexus, but they found that not even the retainers knew; the food and other supplies were shipped to the center of the station by a system of intricate tubes. The route must have been long, for gas dissipated before it reached the man, and even the most powerful explosives never seemed to faze their target.  
  
All in all, Zedin found the idea rather intriguing. He had never been asked to kill Theros before; the employers only bothered to hire the best to attempt the perilous and seemingly impossible journey in the infamous Theros space maze, and he felt almost flattered by the proposal. After, there would be no harm in having a try, because the bosses were used to their hands reporting failures. Sure, it would be dangerous, but he faced danger every moment of his life. It was merely a part of his occupation. His mind firmly made up; he sent back a reply of acceptance, then stopped only for a brief bite to eat before heading back to his vehicle.  
  
A short while later, the assassin arrived at the gargantuan mansion, which hovered, hulking and ominous, against the endless blanket of nothingness around it. He counted the number of holes visible from his position. Only eight, the crews must have been working overtime to repair them. There were no other ships parked around the area, but Zedin knew that there were at least half a dozen paid killers and probably twice as many police troopers inside the station at any given time. The cause for the lack of vehicles parked in the area was that it was a famous stomping ground for car hijackers. The police cruisers all had tracking devices, and the methods the mercenaries used were much less pleasant, so Zedin thought the whole idea was rather stupid, but the fact remained that there were always people looking for a nice ride who were willing to take the risk in pursuit of an insane dream that they wouldn't get caught.  
  
Zedin slowed his own ship into a dormant hover just in front of the main entrance to the enormous satellite, which had become a gaping hole so large that he could probably drive the ship into it if he tried. Making sure his visor was closed securely to protect his air supply from the unforgiving vacuum of space, he pushed himself out of the vehicle, and the door automatically shifted out of the way and let him float into the eternal expanses of stars. He carefully checked that the door was fully closed, and heard the shrill beep in his helmet that told him that the security system was in place. If anyone broke the window and attempted to pilot the ship without his keycard, they would have to hack through numerous levels of encryption in order to unlock the controls. Zedin was ready to accept that it was hardly foolproof, but he hoped most would-be thieves would not think it worth the time and effort, especially since they did not know when he would emerge from the station and come after them, thirsting for vengeance.  
  
He pushed gently off of the stable vehicle and let the lack of gravity take him towards the satellite. At his mental command, the gloves of his combat suit adhered to the sheer metal wall of the station, and he maneuvered along the side until he could float safely through the opening. He felt a peculiar rippling sensation, and he knew he had passed through an oxygen filter, that kept all the air inside the station instead of letting it float into space. The filter was a relatively new invention, and it supposedly cost a fortune, but Zedin doubted either bothered Alec Theros in the least. Disengaging the magnetic field that allowed him to attach to the wall so that he could move through the station without having to physically extract his boots from the floor, he began to stride calmly down the corridor. At his mental command, a compartment popped out from his hip, and he pulled out his heavy repeating blaster, sliding the safety into firing position.  
  
Zedin decided on a rather simple course of action, which consisted of following the paths already opened by his predecessors, then striking out on his own when he reached a point where nobody had yet reached. He would probably encounter more competition that way, but that didn't bother him. Ironically, almost everyone in his profession had at least one person offering a price on their heads, usually an offended employer or an angry friend or family member of a past target. Of course, the police were always offering rewards for assassins, but Zedin could hardly stride into a police satellite and toss a hit man's body on the tiled floor and stretch out his hand for payment. But if he found anyone who got in his way and disposed of them accordingly, then the time wouldn't have been totally wasted even if he didn't manage to penetrate the infamous maze.  
  
Zedin moved as stealthily as possible through the winding metal hallways, his footsteps light to keep the echoes soft and his finger quivered on the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. His suit had another dozen or so weapons he could call on with his thoughts in a moment, and he kept half of them just on the edge of his mind's grasp. In his most formidable state, he crept along the curved steel walls, ears straining for any sound that could signify danger. He came to a fork, and turned to the right.  
  
Continuing on, Zedin reached another fork, and heard hurried footsteps emanating from the right tunnel. Pressing himself against the wall, and hoping that he was covered from view, he watched three police troopers rush into the area, panting.  
  
The one nearest to Zedin spoke. "What happened?"  
  
The officer behind him paused to catch his breath, then responded. "Someone broke through an area that's never been penetrated before. Even if it's not the correct route to the center, we'd better follow him anyway."  
  
"Which way?"  
  
The one in the back pointed to the left tunnel, and they sped off. Zedin breathed a sigh of relief that never made it past his visor. He quickly made up his mind to go after both the troopers and whomever they were chasing. If a new area had been opened, it had a better chance of leading to the heart of the station than any of the other routes that dead-ended, logically. He pulled out a pocket explosive, in case the officers spotted him behind them. He hoped it wouldn't come to that; police officers were just doing their jobs, and besides, you couldn't pick up bounties on them. Plus, he needed them to lead him to this hunter who had somehow managed to go where nobody else had ever reached.  
  
Zedin tried to keep track of all of the turns that they made, so that he could make it back without getting lost, but it was no use. After about twenty minutes, he gave up. For once, the monotony of the narrow tunnels broke, and a large rectangular chamber stood before them. Zedin stared at it in incomprehension as the troopers in front of him headed into the room, weapons drawn. Surely that couldn't be the center of the station. The door was open, with no signs of being forced, and the computer that sat next to it did not look like it had been hacked, for the complex strings of computer code were absent. After all, this was supposed to be the most confounding security in the entire galaxy, and yet the door to the heart of it all was wide open. It made no sense.  
  
Zedin was still contemplating this strange incident when he heard the shrill beep that jerked him back into alertness. He knew what that sound meant. Forgetting stealth, he ran back down the corridor as fast as he could, his mind ticking down the time he had left. When the second beep sounded, he dove for the ground, covering his head with both arms. The resounding explosion that rocked the chamber drowned out the eerie grating of the metal of his suit against the steel floor. The flames from the bomb shot into the corridor, falling just short of where Zedin crouched. The young hunter breathed another sigh of relief, this one much more heartfelt than the last.  
  
Pushing himself to his feet, Zedin retrieved his weapon from where it had skittered from his grasp in his haste to get out of the way from the detonation. He thought about grabbing his own explosive, which had been in his free hand for use against the troopers, but he decided against it. Being smaller and round, the device had offered less resistance and had rolled farther down the hallway, and he didn't want Theros dead before he even reached the nexus. Besides, explosives were most useful when the element of surprise was in place, which Zedin probably wouldn't have if he had to fight this other assassin. He sneaked back to the doorway he had previously crouched behind, and extended his head slowly; hoping to steal a glance before his mysterious opponent became aware of his presence.  
  
Apparently, that advantage had already been taken from him, for a voice emerged from the smoke and wreckage. "You can come out from behind the door. I know you're there."  
  
Zedin gripped his weapon tighter, but he walked through the doorway, glancing around at his surroundings. The three troopers sprawled dead against the wall, the metal of their suits melded to their bodies like a sort of grotesque shell. Zedin turned his attention from the victims to the attacker. He appeared to be a few years older than Zedin himself, with black hair and green eyes, which differed greatly from Zedin's sandy hair and bright blue eyes. He was slightly shorter than Zedin, and it was impossible to tell somebody's weight due to the bulky metal of the combat suit he wore. Zedin recognized him instantly as Sarain Koreth, a fairly infamous hunter. He didn't know that Sarain had been considered qualified to go after someone as sought-after as Alec Theros, but until two hours ago, he hadn't considered himself qualified either.  
  
"Zedin Silvash. Your reputation precedes you."  
  
"As does yours," Zedin responded.  
  
"I'll give you a chance to turn back."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"I don't want to fight you unless it is absolutely necessary."  
  
"Because you're not sure that you can win."  
  
"But you don't know any better than I. Would you risk your life for a bounty?"  
  
Zedin scoffed. "I risk my life for every bounty I've ever taken. And I've never lost a target."  
  
"All the more reason to leave now while you can. I'm sure you're familiar with the law of averages. Besides, did you even really expect to succeed?"  
  
"Not particularly, but what does it matter? Did you?"  
  
"No, but I can open places that have never been opened before. I will find him."  
  
"That reminds me. How did you get this far when nobody else could?"  
  
He shrugged. "To be honest, I don't really know. Whenever I approached a door, it would open on its own. I'm not sure why, but I didn't question."  
  
"Weren't you afraid that you might have been lead into a trap?"  
  
"Yes, but I decided to deal with that problem if it arose. So far, it hasn't."  
  
"I see."  
  
Sarain spoke in an almost detached manner. "Why are you stalling?"  
  
Zedin countered just as calmly. "Why are you trying to bluff me into leaving?"  
  
He obviously chose to ignore that. "You're not leaving, are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right then."  
  
The was a low whooshing sound as two pale blue-tinged blades emerged out from the wrists of his suit and extended about three feet past his hands. Sarain was famous for his devastating skill with thermal weapons. Zedin decided not to wait for Sarain to dice him up seven different ways. Lifting his gun, he fired several rapid bursts straight at the other hunter before leaping backwards, his finger jamming the trigger down over and over again. But the pulses of blaster fire merely bounced off the green shield that appeared around Sarain, and the older assassin lunged, blades at the ready.  
  
Zedin cursed under his breath. Sarain only had to lower the shield when he struck with the thermal blades, and then he could just put it back up again. Either he had to fight Sarain hand to hand with his own thermal weapon, where he would most likely be outmatched quickly, or he would have to think up another strategy than trying to pepper his foe with lasers quickly, because that would clearly not work in this situation. Suddenly getting an idea, he took hold of a protruding knob on the left side of his blaster and pulled it backwards, revealing a panel that began to shimmer as energy began to build inside of the weapon.  
  
Glancing around as quickly as he could without losing sight of his opponent, Zedin decided to use the aftermath of the explosion to his advantage. Weaving in and out of the various pieces of rubble, he forced his opponent to take an indirect route. When they both had to take the same path, Zedin, the faster of the two, quickly gained ground. When he was certain he had a large enough lead to achieve what he wanted without being seen, he ducked behind a large box that had been only partially blown open by the bomb. Reaching into another compartment that opened at his brain's command, he pulled out a small metal sphere with a tiny button at the top. When Sarain sliced straight through his cover, Zedin hopped back to avoid decapitation, and the chase began again.  
  
Making sure that the left side of his weapon was not visible to his opponent, he once again began to run between the obstacles. This time, however, Sarain appeared to be growing impatient, preferring to cut straight through the offending rubble rather than work around it. Good, then he was distracted. As indiscreet as possible, Zedin pressed the button and lightly tossed the ball to the floor. Unfortunately, the other hunter picked up on the move, and his eyes widened as he realized what the seemingly harmless ball was. Bending over, Sarain scooped up the sphere and attempted to hurl it back in Zedin's direction, but it was too late. The ball emitted a dazzling flash of light, and Sarain stumbled, his shield flickering out of existence without his concentration to sustain it.  
  
Zedin, however, had put up his tinted visor as a precaution, and lifted his blaster, aiming carefully so that he didn't miss the shot he had worked so hard to gain. The charged energy that had compiled during his diversion ripped through the air, slamming into the older assassin's unprotected suit and lifting him off his feet. His head, which was unprotected by a visor or helmet, crashed against the wall. The force released him, and he crumpled to the floor. Zedin stooped picking up the flash grenade and depositing it back into the pocket from where it came. Stopping to thank Soa fervently that he had set the weapon to a short fuse earlier; he went over and checked his opponent. He was still alive, just out cold. Good, hopefully he would have already killed Theros before Sarain woke up.  
  
Looking around the room, he spotted two doors besides the one from which he came. Figuring that he should just take a leaf out of Sarain's book, he walked up to the door to the left. The door remained shut. He tried the second door. It slid open, and Zedin stared incredulously into the corridor that was revealed. Shrugging, he continued on. The same situation prevailed wherever he went. Whenever he reached a fork, one door would open for him. Soon, he reached a huge set of blast doors that looked as though they could withstand anything that the world could throw at it and more. He sighed, finally accepting that he had reached a dead end, but he decided not to leave without at least giving it a shot. He pulled the most powerful explosive in his inventory out of his suit, and was just about to place it against the doors when he heard the sound of a pressure lock being released, and as before, the portal opened on its own accord. Sitting in a single chair in the center a room that seemed full to the bursting point with video screens and computers was a small middle-aged man with his fingers steepled, staring intently at his guest.  
  
"Come in, Mister Silvash. I've been expecting you."  
  
"Are you the one who's been opening the way for us?"  
  
"Naturally. You and the other boy wouldn't have been to find your way in here otherwise," He said without any trace of false modesty or arrogance. "I do hope you didn't kill him, by the way. It would make matters a great deal more difficult."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Well, I was hoping your employer would have at least told you that much before you came here. It's a shame how little information they give you before sending you off to kill somebody. My name is Alec Theros, and I own this infamous little satellite. Why don't you take a seat? We have a lot to discuss."  
  
Author's Note: Took me forever to update, I know, but I've been busy. OK, so next chapter, we find out why Theros leads two guys who are trying to kill him straight into the middle of his station. Anyway, updated next is either Crimson Wings or Rebirth, depending on which writer's block dissolves first. Yeah. 


End file.
